February Dirt & Duck Tape Mentality

A bout of gambling 140 years ago contributed to a financial crisis which drew Dostoyevsky into signing a rash contract with his publisher. The deal was that he had to deliver a complete new novel within the month of February or forfeit the copyright on all of his existing works. He completed The Gambler just short of the deadline, emerging a winner by a hair’s breadth.

41 years ago on February 25th, Cassius Clay drew me into gambling deeper than I had ever been before with his knockout of Sonny Liston...as an 8 to 1 underdog. Doing reserarch for Ring Magazine, I had seen him training in Miami after the Olympics, and I knew better than the oddsmakers, apparently.

The Russian writer acquired a new wife in the process of churning out The Gambler, marrying his stenographer, Anna Snitkina. I acquired a habit.

Bob Dylan dropped the Robert Zimmerman moniker for good around the same time Liston was hitting the canvas. And one of the first presidents of the San Bernardino Angels, Bobby Zimmerman, hit the blacktop in a motorcycle accident, dropping out (of life) for good the same year as that...as dead as Chicano wordsmith Ruben Salazar [1] ...who was felled by an L.A. cop’s bullet on February 24th (1970)...illegally...a long way from Dostoyevsky.

On February 24th (1917) Great Britain released the "Zimmerman Note," a coded message from Germany to its ambassador in Mexico suggesting an alliance if the U.S. entered World War II. As a reward, Mexico would get Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. The note helped turn U.S. public opinion firmly against Germany.

On February 26th (1993) a bomb exploded in the parking garage beneath the World Trade Center. It was as clear a message as the Zimmerman Note, as traceable a move as Dylan’s name change, as much of a portent of things to come as Salazar’s untimely, unnecessary death, as predictable as Clay’s victory...and the change of his Hancock to Ali.

But last night on a PBS special, something called "Dirty War" was aired...produced, viewed and commented on as if our Zimmerman Note never came down the pike on an open-air bike...for all to see...easy as piebald, frightened Liston’s face was to name...to call on the nose way back in ’64...when biker Bobby was run over by his own brother Angels.

Why all the convoluted orthographics? For the same reason that I once wrote a piece on John Malkovich composed entirely of questions. [2] The form must fit the content for me.

And now is the time...to be crystal clear. Let us look at the Crystal Ball. And, then, let’s see what you do with the directness.

The "Dirty War" film dramatized what might happen if a radioactive bomb were set off in downtown London, the Liverpool line. There have been real life precedents to draw upon [3], but the whole production sadly, terrifyingly...missed the boat. They may have —to borrow from Dostoyevsky’s experience above— missed the deadline.

To wit, the show culminated in comments made by experts in the Western world, and —to make a long, sad story short— the Q&A never went beyond the focus on what we should be doing to prevent such an event...except for discussing variations on what we might do to put up greater walls.

The de rigeur points about the need for shelters, decontamination devices, increased intelligence, etc. fell to the floor as hard as Liston’s body and Bobby Z’s decapitated torso.

Anyone with eyes to see —and it looks as if there aren’t many of us— knows that we’re going to have to get down on our knees and beg forgiveness as we beg for negotiations with the so-called terrorists. All those with whom we have...differences.

And because The Powers have no such intention to do so. And since most of those on the left and right of readers are too stupid to see the very clay roundhouse on the way, it’s up to you to take matters into your own hands.

You can do something to stir up the masses (involuntarily) now...hopefully leading to some forced changes...that might buy us all some time. Or you can resign yourself to living without huge parts of London and elsewhere for a few decades. At least.

To paraphrase Dylan’s Oscar winner, "I used to gamble, but things have changed." [4]

And unlike the dead Zimmerman and, apparently, most out there, I do care...and see.